Murder at the Castle (20 page)

With dragging feet and a phoney smile, I walked over to join the group.

And the very first remark nearly undid me. ‘Nigel tells me this party was your idea!' Laurie said brightly.

‘Well,' I said, trying to give myself time to think, ‘it was everyone's, really. Alan's and Inga's and mine, I mean. We thought it would be nice, after all your hard work, and so we suggested it to Sir John, and he agreed. So . . .' I waved my hand around. ‘Everyone seems to be having a good time, don't you think?' I wished I had that wine in front of me. Teetering on the brink between truth and perjury is a nerve-wracking exercise.

‘Brilliant,' said one of the other musicians, English by her voice. ‘And we really did need it, especially after the encore.' There were nods and murmurs of agreement. ‘He sprang that on us with no warning, and I don't mind saying it was hard to sing, after . . .'

She trailed off, and one of the young men finished for her. ‘We sang it on the canal boat, you see. Nigel started it, and we all sang along. Dan sang with us, and then . . .'

Well, there was my opening. Would Alan never bring me my food and wine? I licked dry lips and said, ‘Yes, I know. Alan and I were on the boat, too. In fact I've been trying to reach Pat – his fiancée?'

They nodded.

‘I'm worried about her. She seems to have gone off into the blue, and I'm not sure she should be alone just now. I suppose I'm being an old mother hen, but . . .'

‘She lives in Manchester, didn't she say?' someone said, and there were murmurs of agreement.

‘We've tried to ring her mobile, and there's no answer. I suppose she could have forgotten to turn it on, or charge it, or something.'

‘Or she's just ignoring it,' said Laurie. ‘She might not feel like talking to anybody at this point.'

‘She was talking to O'Hara,' said one of the men. ‘When she came to say goodbye. Day before yesterday? I've lost track.'

‘Day before that. Tuesday, it was. She came round because she was going back home. Didn't want to carry on with the festival. Which was understandable.'

‘Yes, but she wasn't going home. I heard her say so. Too lonely without Dan, she said.'

I leaned forward toward the young woman who had contributed this bit of information. ‘Did she say where she was going?' I asked, trying to display only mild interest.

The group exchanged glances, but no one seemed to have heard Pat say anything definite about her plans.

‘Gone off with O'Hara, hasn't she?' said one rather loud young man. ‘Off with the old, on with the new.'

‘She's not a bit like that!' said a young woman indignantly. ‘She was really in love with Daniel. They were planning to be married in October.' She dashed tears from her eyes. ‘And James was Dan's best mate. They went off to mourn him together. That's all!'

‘But
where
have they gone?' The mildly interested pose was getting harder to maintain.

General shrugs. ‘Really, you mustn't worry about Pat,' said the earnest young woman. ‘She'll be quite all right with James.'

If Alan hadn't turned up just then with food and drink, I think I might have screamed with frustration. I could only hope that Inga and Alan had better luck with their missions. I had made absolutely no headway at all.

But I despaired too soon. The party began to wind down, and the musicians were looking around for Sir John and his promised announcements, so that they could leave. I picked up my empty plate and glass, heading for a rubbish bin. Laurie stood at my side.

‘Dorothy, I have to talk to you,' she said in a near whisper. ‘Can we go someplace away from all this?'

It was important. I knew that after one quick glance. I took her arm. ‘Here. Up this stairway. Quick.'

I was counting on the musicians' lack of interest in narrow, poorly lit passages. The fact that I wasn't any too fond of them myself was irrelevant at this point.

We made our way along to one of the wider places where there was a window. There wasn't another soul around. I turned to face Laurie. ‘We won't be interrupted here. Tell me.'

She took a deep breath. ‘I think Larry knows something about Pat and James.'

‘Larry? But why hasn't he said anything? He knows we're all trying to find them.'

‘I don't know! He won't even talk to me about it, and we've never hidden anything from each other!' She was nearly in tears. ‘It's a twin thing, you know? I mean, we fight like crazy over all sorts of things, but we don't lie to each other, and we don't keep secrets from each other. When we were kids,' she went on, speaking from the great distance of her twenty-some years, ‘we told each other everything, even the things we'd have died rather than tell our parents. I knew all about his first joint, and he knew about my first serious love affair – and calmed me down when it was over. It was nothing at all like what my girlfriends went through with their brothers. Larry's . . . well, it sounds sort of dumb, but he's my best friend. And I thought I was his. And now he's gone all quiet and moody, and that's not like him at all. And when I tried to talk to him about Pat and Dan and James and the whole situation, he just walked away.'

The tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and I put an arm around her shoulders and just held her for a few minutes.

This was a most unexpected development, and I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. If I tried to talk to Larry myself, and if by chance he'd seen us go off together, he'd think Laurie had betrayed him. As, in a way, she had.

On the other hand, if Alan were to question him, Alan who was trained for such things and had the benefit of a sort of semi-official status – well, not really, not any more, but would a young American know about the finer points . . .?

It might be worth a try. Alan would be able to make it seem as if he was asking everybody the same questions – as indeed he probably was.

‘Look here, Laurie.' She had control of herself now and was fishing in her handbag for a tissue. I pulled one out of my pocket and handed it to her. ‘Crumpled, but clean. Now what I propose to do is this. I don't want to talk to Larry myself.'

‘Oh, no, you can't!' she wailed. ‘He'd think—'

‘Exactly. But what if I tell Alan what you've told me – privately, of course – and he asks Larry some questions? No, wait till I've finished. You'll remember we told you Alan used to be a policeman.'

She looked instantly apprehensive.

I gave her arm a little shake. ‘Stop being so scared! He has no official standing any more, and anyway this is Wales, not England. I'm a little hazy about the laws here, and the differences, but the point is he couldn't clap handcuffs on anyone any more than I could, or you, for that matter. What he can do, though, is ask questions, and he's very good at that. And I promise you, Larry won't have any idea you've said a word to anyone. Will you let me drop Alan a hint?'

She sniffed and blew her nose. ‘This trip was supposed to be fun. Music, travel, the chance to go places we'd always wanted to see. Now all I want to do is go home.'

‘May I talk to Alan?'

She gave me a dreary little nod. ‘Everything's awful anyway. I don't suppose it could get worse.'

Probably fortunately, I had a lot more experience than she of just how much worse things could get. This wasn't the time to tell her so.

‘Go wash your face, then. Or no, wait.' I rummaged in my large handbag and found a packet of moist towelettes. ‘Here, use these. The loos will be jammed, and you don't want to run into anyone looking like you've been crying. But you'd better hurry, because you mustn't miss whatever Sir John wants to say to you all.'

I gave her a pat to shoo her on her way. Then I took a deep breath and went to look for Alan.

I found him standing at the back of the assemblage of musicians, who had gathered, somewhat impatiently, to hear what Sir John had to say to them. I touched him on the shoulder. He turned, and I opened my mouth, but just then Sir John began to speak, and Alan put a finger to my lips.

‘Wait,' he mouthed.

I shook my head and pulled him away. ‘It can't wait,' I murmured. ‘Come around the corner.'

He raised his eyebrows and followed me behind one of the stone buttresses that, though crumbling, still blocked a good deal of sound.

‘You need to talk to Larry,' I said rapidly. ‘Before he leaves here, if you can. I've just had a talk with his sister, though you mustn't tell Larry that. She's quite sure he knows something important about this whole situation. He might know where Pat and James are.'

‘Got it,' he said, fading into the crowd that was now beginning to move toward the exit.

Bless the man for not asking questions!

I wondered, as I mingled with the musicians trying to find Nigel and Inga, what excuse Sir John had come up with to keep the musicians around for the extra hour. I was soon to know.

‘I keep on losing everyone,' said Nigel, coming up from behind me.

‘Oh, you startled me! I was looking for you, too. Where's Inga?'

‘Still collecting gossip, I suppose. I've not seen her since the end of the concert. I thought she might have come round when Sir John dismissed us, but . . .' He gave a little ‘who knows' shrug.

‘What did he say to you, anyway? I was talking to Alan. I hope he made it sound important enough to keep you all here another hour.'

‘Actually, it was important. He's added a piece to tomorrow's programme. An “In Memoriam” sort of thing, the Webber ‘
Pié Jesu'
. Do you know it?'

‘I certainly do! It's beautiful. Who's doing the solo?'

Nigel looked at his feet. ‘Well . . .'

‘Nigel! Congratulations! I'll bet what's-her-name, the soprano, is ready to strangle you with her bare hands.' I deeply regretted the phrase the moment it was out of my mouth.

‘Yes . . . well . . . of course it ought really to be a treble, but Sir John didn't want to try to find one at the last minute, so . . .'

‘I'm sure you'll be wonderful. Sorry I was stupid about it.'

He made the kind of ambiguous gesture that can mean anything at all, and we stood in an awkward silence until Inga appeared out of the rapidly thinning group of musicians.

‘You look like two strange cats. Your fur is bristling. Have you had a row?'

I shook my head. ‘No, it was something I said, so stupid I won't even repeat it.'

‘You're tired,' said Inga with a sigh. ‘We all are. The afternoon has not been wasted, though. I would a tale relate, but I want to wait until we're all together. I saw Alan just now, deep in conversation with that American singer Larry. He, Alan I mean, said to tell you to come home with Nigel and me, and he'll follow.'

So we plodded off to Nigel's car, quiet and more than a little subdued. I realized that Inga was absolutely right. I was more than tired. I was discouraged, frustrated, and angry.

Angry? That one stopped me in my tracks. Surely not angry!

But yes. My mind, sorting out my emotions, had hit on the right combination. This lovely holiday in Wales, centred around the music we all loved, and in that most romantic of settings, a medieval castle, had become a nightmare not only for my small party, but for almost all the musicians involved. And poor Sir John! It must be worst of all for him. This labour of love had turned into a calendar of horrors.

He was quite right. It had to stop.

But how were we to accomplish that?

‘B
ut what's being done about it, darling?'

Lady Cynthia's voice was calm and controlled, but her hand shook a little as she poured a measure of whisky for her husband. The twins, asleep in the next room, had put up a struggle about bedtime tonight, perhaps feeling their mother's tension. It had taken both her and the au pair to get them settled, and with the au pair off duty for the night, Cynthia was anxious lest they awaken again. She lowered her voice another notch and changed her question slightly. ‘Is no one doing anything to . . . to find out who's responsible for these horrors?'

Sir John took a sip of his drink and then put it down. ‘The police have apparently dismissed both . . . events as accidents. Unless something else happens, I don't think they'll take any further action.'

‘But they
must
!' Cynthia's voice rose a trifle, and a small protesting whimper sounded from the next room. Both parents froze, willing the child back to sleep. After a hushed period of waiting, with no further sounds of discontent, John lifted his glass again and Cynthia leaned over to pour herself some mineral water.

‘Try not to worry too much, darling,' John said, reaching over to touch her hand. He was careful to speak in soothing tones that might reassure not only Cynthia, but any child who still hovered near the edge of wakefulness. ‘We're doing all we can to get to the bottom of it all. I told you about the chief constable and his wife, and their friends are helping. It'll be all right in the end.'

‘The end,' said Cynthia, ‘is tomorrow.' Her voice was steady again, but her hand still trembled. ‘John, we can't leave here without knowing. You know we can't.'

He shook his head, without speaking. There was nothing he could say to help her.

She lowered her voice still further. ‘John, I know about her.'

He looked at her, alarm in his face.

‘I knew the moment I saw her. You had described her to me, of course, but it was the look on your face that told me. You looked like . . . like the Lady of Shalott.'

‘“The doom has come upon me”.' His face now was grey, and he hid it in his hands. ‘I didn't want you to know, ever.'

‘John, it didn't matter. Not then. It didn't matter at all. We are legally married, and I know that, and I know you . . . that you and I . . .' Her voice was trembling now.